Poetry about the beauty, heritage and history of the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina appear on this blog.

Monday, May 5, 2014

Lend a Hand

The guest writer for this posting is my mom, Blanche L. Ledford. Her story was published in Simplicity, a prose and poetry book that we co-authored. Catawba Publishing printed our book.

Lend a Hand
by: Blanche L. Ledford

For 91 years, my hands have served me well. Blood veins crisscross my hands like the Blue Ridge Mountains where I grew up during the Great Depression.

I helped feed my family when I was a child. I hoed the vegetable garden, picked corn, okra, green beans, squash, and dug Irish potatoes. I helped Mama can food and strung leather breeches with my blistered hands.

I fed the pig, petted his pink nose, and called him Sam. Around Thanksgiving each year Daddy and my brother, George, butchered the hog. I covered my ears with trembling hands to deafen the hog's squealing as he died. I could not eat a bite of bacon.

My brother and I cut firewood with a cross-cut saw on Davy Mountain during the winter. I blew my breath on frozen hands as we piled the pine on a sled and snaked it to the log cabin.

I carried buckets of water from the spring for cooking, bathing, and washing. I scrubbed clothes on a rub board until my hands bled.

In the summer, I picked blackberries for pies and preserves. I scratched chigger bites with purple stained hands and briers pricked my fingers.

When I married, my husband invited strangers home to eat. I prepared many meals with my hands. I kneaded bread and made biscuits for my family. I have fed "angels unaware" who gathered around my kitchen table. I hope I have served others and especially God well with my hands.

But I've had pleasure with my hands. I had four babies, held them and caressed their soft faces with my work-worn hands.

I played softball with my children and clapped when they made home runs. I've wiped tears from their faces when they fell and scraped their knees.

I made ruffled dresses for my daughters and they looked like dolls when they were infants. I cut plaid cloth and made shirts for my son. I enjoyed sewing my my hands.

When my children outgrew their clothes, I cut them into patterns and made quilts. I stitched and matched the corners with tired hands.

My hands have served me well all of my life. Some days now, they work hard. I still enjoy gardening and working in my flowers. My greatest thrill is picking tomatoes and sharing them with people. Some days my hands just rest on the soft arms of my chair.

My mom and I wish all of my blogger friends a Happy Mother's Day. I appreciate very much my blogger friends and enjoy visiting your blogs.

14 comments:

Hi Brenda. what a beautiful article written by your mother! I enjoyed it very much as it describes the lives of many of the people I knew growing up. Times were hard for them, and their daily work was very rough, too. For myself, I think those folks are the salt of earth. Have a wonderful week and give your mom a hug for me.

Your mother's hands have been a blessing to many over the years. It makes me sad to think of the so many people today who scorn to know that joy. To work with your own hands to help others is one of the best things in life. Thank you for sharing.

This was a beautiful post! And such a profound reminder of how the following generation has lost so much of the ability to be self-sufficient, has lost so many of the basic life skills that were common to your mother's generation. People worked hard to survive, to care for their families - and didn't waste time feeling sorry for themselves. I have great respect for that generation.